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SANDHYA
SONGS OF TWILIGHT
BY
DHAN GOPAL MUKERJI
AUTHOR OF "LAYLA-MAJNU"
AND "RAJANI"
NINETEEN SEVENTEEN
PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO
Copyright, 1917
By PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO
TO
MRS. HANCOCK BANNING
MRS. WILLIAM CLARK, JR.
FOREWORD
Like "Rajani" [perhaps more than], "Sandhya" is a slender rill that has drawn its music from my Bengali which has told upon its English structure. This and many other faults of these poems are due to their unyielding adherence to spontaneity.
"Sandhya" came then, as "Rajani" in its own way through the bed of my Bengali reflecting its sound and sense, and trying to echo back its music that descends on all with the fading twilight.
Dhan Gopal Mukerji.
N. B.—Since some of these poems were born without, and defy titles, I have refrained from forcing any on them.
CONTENTS
POEM PAGE Symbolism 1 3 Source of Singing 2 4 "With purple shadows the mist measures the infinite sea" 3 5 "O, Old! O, New!" 4 6 "The far away called her" 5 8 Lassitude 6 10 "Ah! pale, cool lips that burn" 7 11 Forlorn 8 12 After a Bengali Song 9 13 Moonrise 10 14 At Ventura, California 11 15 "The same air that you breathe" 12 16 "Why this return?" 13 17 "By the verge of the woodland" 14 18 The Dream of His Soul 15 19
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tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">The Eurasian 16 20 "In the perfumed shrine of love" 17 21 The Infirm Beggar Sings 18 22 "Kiss, my love, kiss" 19 23 Color-Harmonies 20 24 Sanatan (The Absolute) 21 25 Coming of the Fog 22 26 "In love's afterglow, full of stars" 23 27 The End 24 28 The Confluence 25 30 "In the deeps of Dream" 26 31 To Leo B. Mihan 27 32 Chopin's Funeral March 28 33 "In the golden afterglow you lay" 29 34 Henrik Ibsen 30 36 After Hearing "My Old Kentucky Home" 31 37 The Coming of the Tide of Night 32 38 Dead Love 33 39 "It is the same twilight, dear" 34 40 Weariness 35
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tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">42 "A call, not a song" 36 43 Remorse 37 44 Poet 38 45 Wanderer 39 46 At Dawn 40 47 "From her many-colored bow, Nature" 41 48 "If words fail, song will come" 42 49 Rainy Night 43 50 Ghosts 44 51 Rain 45 52 Evening Worship 46 54 "The rosy mist stilly polishes the round mirror" 47 55 "The sun's golden spear" 48 56 Truce 49 57 A Parallel 50 58 "'Nothing endures,' you said" 51 59 Disappointment 52 60 Buddha 53 61 "Ask me not to stand at thy friendship's gate" 54 62 "Golden vines they" 55
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href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@22848@[email protected]#Page_63" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">63 At Sundown 56 64 "Tears well out from my heart" 57 65 "At last thou comest" 58 66 "The lingering light of the sun" 59 67 "I have drunk your tears with insatiate lips" 60 68 Sound Butterflies (In a Fountain) 61 69 "Even in sadness thou art beside me" 62 70 "By the sea of sleep walks white-robed Night" 63 71 Farewell (After a Hindustani Song) 64 72 Satiety 65 74 "Drowsy the noonday air" 66 75 Chatterton 67 76 "A summer song it was" 68 77 "Who Knows" 69 78 The First Vision 70 80 Shanti 71 82
SANDHYA, SONGS OF TWILIGHT
I
SYMBOLISM
Tongueless the bell!
Lute without a song!
It is not night
It is God's dawn,
Silence its unending song.
Lute without a song!
It is not night
It is God's dawn,
Silence its unending song.
Over heart's valley,
In the soul's night,
Through pain's window
Behold! His light!
On Life's Height.
In the soul's night,
Through pain's window
Behold! His light!
On Life's Height.
No prayer, now,
Though death-waves roll,
Faith's candle lit,
Beside it sits the soul
Reading Eternity's scroll.
Though death-waves roll,
Faith's candle lit,
Beside it sits the soul
Reading Eternity's scroll.
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SOURCE OF SINGING
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A bruised heart,
A wounded soul,
A wounded soul,
A broken lute,
That is all!
That is all!
A sad evening,
And a lone star,
And a lone star,
Then song reddens—
Sets life's forest afire!
Sets life's forest afire!
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With purple shadows the mist measures the infinite sea
That spreads her wave-raiment in lavender, violet, gray, and green;
While with thin silver rays a lone star seeks to sound the deeps.
That spreads her wave-raiment in lavender, violet, gray, and green;
While with thin silver rays a lone star seeks to sound the deeps.
The breeze-wings tire of flight;
The mist-threads weave a rose-fringed dusky drapery
To cover the bare breasts of the dunes from the moon's langour-heavy eyes.
The mist-threads weave a rose-fringed dusky drapery
To cover the bare breasts of the dunes from the moon's langour-heavy eyes.
The shadows die in purple silence;
Fades the one star from the sky,
As the dark mist puts out the rose-red moon from its deep.
Fades the one star from the sky,
As the dark mist puts out the rose-red moon from its deep.
Pale gleams the lighthouse light;
No warring waves break the peace of sleep tonight
Nor a hungry wind shrieks in pain from the lea.
No warring waves break the peace of sleep tonight
Nor a hungry wind shrieks in pain from the lea.
Under her heavy veil of black
A languid sea sluggishly flows
To some far land of forsaken dreams.
A languid sea sluggishly flows
To some far land of forsaken dreams.
4
"O, OLD! O, NEW!"[1]
Who are you?
Why make me wait
From the hour of dew
Till another sunset?
Why do I look
For your coming?
Listen to the weeping brook
That might bring
To my lonely shore
A word from you.
Ah, nothing! not a leaf's tremor!
O, old! O, longed for new!
Who are you? I ask;
Know not why I seek
From day to dusk
Without waking or sleep,—
No sleep! no waking!
A dreaming, a longing;
Not knowing, yet seeking,
For your coming waiting—
O, spring-born!
O, autumn-clad!
O, soul's new morn!
O, old! O, glad!
So glad, so young!
O, unseen, unknown,
O, fugitive vision!
O, eternal moan
In my heart—
Why make me wait
From the hour of dew
Till another sunset?
Why do I look
For your coming?
Listen to the weeping brook
That might bring
To my lonely shore
A word from you.
Ah, nothing! not a leaf's tremor!
O, old! O, longed for new!
Who are you? I ask;
Know not why I seek
From day to dusk
Without waking or sleep,—
No sleep! no waking!
A dreaming, a longing;
Not knowing, yet seeking,
For your coming waiting—
O, spring-born!
O, autumn-clad!
O, soul's new morn!
O, old! O, glad!
So glad, so young!
O, unseen, unknown,
O, fugitive vision!
O, eternal moan
In my heart—
O, tearful Soul of laughter,
Untouched, unhurt,
O, sweet! O, bitter!
My born yet unborn,
Shadow not fallen
O, undawning morn—
O, message unbroken.
Why, how, when?
I wait, wait for you,
O embrace of earth and heaven;
O, Old! O, New!
Untouched, unhurt,
O, sweet! O, bitter!
My born yet unborn,
Shadow not fallen
O, undawning morn—
O, message unbroken.
Why, how, when?
I wait, wait for you,
O embrace of earth and heaven;
O, Old! O, New!
[1] "O, Old! O, New!" is the cry of a "Poáti," e. g., a mother's cry to her unborn child. "Poáti" has no precise English synonym.
5
The far away called her—
A pilgrim on the hope-lit bark of youth,
A woman, a child, a soul
On an argosy for the lands of south.
A pilgrim on the hope-lit bark of youth,
A woman, a child, a soul
On an argosy for the lands of south.
It called her in her dreams;
Her waking into a deeper dream grew;
The flute of the distant
Played ceaselessly the music of the new.
Her waking into a deeper dream grew;
The flute of the distant
Played ceaselessly the music of the new.
With words of fire it called her,
Beyond the bourne of her days
To a silent sea of joy
Washed by unending twilight-rays.
Beyond the bourne of her days
To a silent sea of joy
Washed by unending twilight-rays.
It called her at dawn
When night shed the star-jewels from her hair;
It called her at sunset
When the moon mutely ascended the heaven's stair.
When night shed the star-jewels from her hair;
It called her at sunset
When the moon mutely ascended the heaven's stair.
It called her without ceasing—
Hour after hour but a calling,
Till "Come, come, come!"
At her soul's door kept repeating:
Hour after hour but a calling,
Till "Come, come, come!"
At her soul's door kept repeating:
Come, come, come!—in
Her word, her music, her song;
Far away, near, far again
Heedless of nightfall and dawn.
Her word, her music, her song;
Far away, near, far again
Heedless of nightfall and dawn.
It called, it cried, it prayed,
Till She, the deity, made answer
Through youth, through age, through death
To her own far away's receding star.
Till She, the deity, made answer
Through youth, through age, through death
To her own far away's receding star.
6
LASSITUDE
Ah! to be able to sing,
To sorrow in melody;
To string with silver
Sorrow's dark harp!
To sorrow in melody;
To string with silver
Sorrow's dark harp!
Or, mount every thorn
Crowning life's brow
With lustrous stars—
Those tears of the sky.
Crowning life's brow
With lustrous stars—
Those tears of the sky.
Rolling down its face
When night's hand puts
Darkness's crown on its head
As twilight dies.
When night's hand puts
Darkness's crown on its head
As twilight dies.
None of these, for my soul;
Only to weep is given to me,
To nourish my heart's crop
For the scythe of barrenness to reap.
Only to weep is given to me,
To nourish my heart's crop
For the scythe of barrenness to reap.
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class="i0">Ah! pale cool lips that burn,
Body that yields, though unyielding,
Oh, moon with the heat of the sun!
Flashing out a million lights
To cleave into nothing the endless firmament of my being.
Take all; my soul's mistress! heart's queen,
The flaming fancies of my dream-tortured night
The intoxicating fruits of my day dream,
The fiery lotus of my senses' delight
That rises from the abyss of my life.
The abysmal heaven of love and living
Now bruised, burnt, torn and thrown
To the winds of thy ravishing rejoicing
Whose inarticulate words of delight and moan
Make the ever-yielding music of my soul.
Body that yields, though unyielding,
Oh, moon with the heat of the sun!
Flashing out a million lights
To cleave into nothing the endless firmament of my being.
Take all; my soul's mistress! heart's queen,
The flaming fancies of my dream-tortured night
The intoxicating fruits of my day dream,
The fiery lotus of my senses' delight
That rises from the abyss of my life.
The abysmal heaven of love and living
Now bruised, burnt, torn and thrown
To the winds of thy ravishing rejoicing
Whose inarticulate words of delight and moan
Make the ever-yielding music of my soul.
8
FORLORN
In the star-blurred hours of the night
When the cloud-dams stay the flow of winds,
Not even the shadow of a meteor moves,
As in the watch-tower of love I sit;
Through the casement of hope look for thy coming
Along the moss-grown path of stones—
Those agonies that time has built on my soul—
By the unfathomable lake of my tears
Shed when even prayers had failed
To bring thy returning.
Come, destroyer of my peace and sleep,
Plunderer of lights of my days!
Enigma on the scroll of my fate
Before the lightnings fired my tower
And thunders crashed in my life's sky.
Only send the echo of thy footfalls—
The ring of thy song,
And a star—reflection of thy smile—
Those million suns in the firmament of my dawn.
When the cloud-dams stay the flow of winds,
Not even the shadow of a meteor moves,
As in the watch-tower of love I sit;
Through the casement of hope look for thy coming
Along the moss-grown path of stones—
Those agonies that time has built on my soul—
By the unfathomable lake of my tears
Shed when even prayers had failed
To bring thy returning.
Come, destroyer of my peace and sleep,
Plunderer of lights of my days!
Enigma on the scroll of my fate
Before the lightnings fired my tower
And thunders crashed in my life's sky.
Only send the echo of thy footfalls—
The ring of thy song,
And a star—reflection of thy smile—
Those million suns in the firmament of my dawn.
9
AFTER A BENGALI SONG
In the forest of my being the voice of your lute;
In the depth of my heart the pearl of your tear;
In the temple of my soul chimes the bell of your love.
In the depth of my heart the pearl of your tear;
In the temple of my soul chimes the bell of your love.
The fire of dawn, shadow of eve,
Life's sorrow, and death's mute-enchanting peace
Steal away silently, fearfully, at thy flute's music.
Life's sorrow, and death's mute-enchanting peace
Steal away silently, fearfully, at thy flute's music.
O, frail, faint call which I seek to echo!
O, breath of love laden with the aroma of my soul!
Why seek I ever without, O guest at my door?
O, breath of love laden with the aroma of my soul!
Why seek I ever without, O guest at my door?
10
MOONRISE
A soft light mantle of rose wear the brown hills
As they look down on the valley where the rills
Spin their long silver embroideries
For the fringe of spring's greenéd draperies.
As they look down on the valley where the rills
Spin their long silver embroideries
For the fringe of spring's greenéd draperies.
The cloud-banks recede with the fading breeze,
The warblers fall into silence in the trees
To listen to many-colored dream-melodies
That the mute stars make on sleep's endless seas.
The warblers fall into silence in the trees
To listen to many-colored dream-melodies
That the mute stars make on sleep's endless seas.
The last light flickers out of the sky,
Shadows with golden feet o'er the green valley hie;
The silver rills trill like warblers from earth's deeps
As the moon, the sun of another dawn, heavenward leaps.
Shadows with golden feet o'er the green valley hie;
The silver rills trill like warblers from earth's deeps
As the moon, the sun of another dawn, heavenward leaps.
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AT VENTURA, CALIFORNIA
The moon rises and washes the brine with silver;
The dunes like white elephants restfully asleep after the chase;
And the fog comes to bring the moon its veil of shades.
The waves stretch their phosphorescent arms
To embrace the night,
The wind like a wounded gull beats its wings
Over the land, over the sea, into the fog-vested intangibility.
The dunes like white elephants restfully asleep after the chase;
And the fog comes to bring the moon its veil of shades.
The waves stretch their phosphorescent arms
To embrace the night,
The wind like a wounded gull beats its wings
Over the land, over the sea, into the fog-vested intangibility.
Like a thousand trumpets the breakers
Proclaim the empiry of night,
The rocky caverns send back echoes
Like homage from vassals near and far;
A faint cry seemeth to flash like lightning;
Through the clouds of the roar of waves:
It is not from the rocks, nor from the sea;
Ah! it is the prayer of a mightier ocean—Humanity!
Proclaim the empiry of night,
The rocky caverns send back echoes
Like homage from vassals near and far;
A faint cry seemeth to flash like lightning;
Through the clouds of the roar of waves:
It is not from the rocks, nor from the sea;
Ah! it is the prayer of a mightier ocean—Humanity!